


Your heart knew where it belonged the whole time

by fictionisthebetterreality



Category: Call the Midwife
Genre: Cheating, F/M, Love, affair, basically me indulging myself, because who doesnt love an older man, but enjoy, gonna pretend i didn't already know that, it took me aprox 3.5 years to come up with a title, not jenny lee thats for sure, or me apparently, secret midnight phonecalls
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-05
Updated: 2018-12-05
Packaged: 2019-09-07 15:17:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16856407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fictionisthebetterreality/pseuds/fictionisthebetterreality
Summary: Like most of the fics I post on here, this has been in my drafts approximately forever, but recently resumed watching CTM and tbh never got over the brief mention of Jenny's affair with a married older man. This is my solution, I guess.





	Your heart knew where it belonged the whole time

“Nonnatus House, Nurse Lee speaking.”

“Hello, darling girl.”

Her hand grips the receiver hard enough to bruise, her intake of breath sharp enough to be heard over the line.

_No. No. Not this. Not now._

Her mind flashes back to the letters, the endless letters, carefully hidden away underneath her mattress. He couldn’t know she kept them, couldn’t know she sometimes gets them out and rereads them, when it’s been a long shift and she needs some small comfort. For a second, she wonders if she’s imagining it, if there is in fact some panicked mother on the other side of the city, and she’s finally just snapped under the pressure, started imagining his voice.

“I’ve missed you.”

Her doubts vanish like smoke as the low baritone sounds in her ear for a second time.

“You--you can’t-you can’t… _be here_.”

Her voice is shaky, and she tries so hard to hate the part of herself that’s screaming, that’s rejoicing, telling her _he came he came he called he’s never stopped thinking about you oh I **missed** you-_

A sigh, barely audible.

“I’m not,” he’s teasing her, as if this is something perfectly normal, perfectly acceptable – as if the past six months never happened and they’re still – that he’s still…

No, she _can’t_. It was painful enough the first time.

( _You moved halfway across the country and it still wasn’t enough, he never actually agreed to end things, that was all you, running away like always_ -)

She blinks and feels a tear escape, a tiny noise betraying the pain in her chest. He notices, of course.

“Oh, darling girl,” that nickname again, _her_ nickname, whispered lovingly as she brings a clenched hand to her chest, pressing in the hopes the pressure will ease. She shouldn’t be standing here – anyone could come, Trixie or Sister Evangelina, she needs to hang up, **_now_**.

She cradles the phone against her ear with both hands, closing her eyes briefly, imagining that this is not now, that she’s back to being 20 and in love ( _you still are, just admit it already_ ) and he’s calling ahead to warn her he’ll be late.

She can hear him breathing - and that’s the worst thing, that even after all this time, after all the heartbreak and secrets, she’d stay here all night, like this, standing alone in the hallway with the phone against her ear just listening, if it would let her be close to him again.

“You’re still married.”

She whispers, but the words still tear their way up her throat. She’s still hurting from the abandoned phone call, from the cheery feminine “Hello?” that greeted her.

“I am. I always will be. You _know_ that.”

Yes, she does. Theirs was never a coup, no promises or discussions or offers of switched allegiances made. It still hurts, though. To know that no matter what they have, he will always, always, have his home with someone else.

(Isn’t it funny, how that statement used to be in the past tense?)

“Jenny,” her eyes fly open at the sound of her name in his mouth, it’s been _so long_ , she’s forgotten-

“You never replied to my letters. I send one every month, I know you get them. Why did you ring?”

His tone is not unkind, question framed gently. _Why did you ring now, when you were doing so well?_

“I – I don’t know.” She admits it, finally looking up to check for lurking midwives or curious nuns. She finds herself shameful, not unlike an alcoholic being caught with a bottle of gin stashed under her pillow.

“You don’t know?” his voice is amused, and she feels her stomach lurch, memories she thought she’d buried deep coming to the surface.

“No, I – I shouldn’t be doing this. _We_ shouldn’t be doing this.” It’s a half-hearted protest at best and they both know it, know she is more than capable of slamming the phone down and burning his letters if that’s what she really wanted.

Bu the letters have stayed untouched and within easy reach for months, and she’s finding all sorts of reasons not to put the phone down, suddenly.

“Please.”

She doesn’t know who the plea is for, nor what it entails. It’s born out of fear and shock, coming out strangled and choked.

_Please stop talking. Stop reminding me of what used to be._

_Please put the phone down, don’t let me hope._

_Please, just stay on the phone, don’t ever leave._

“Nurse Lee! There you are! We have a situation with Mrs Burns, seems the baby’s decided to come early…”

She freezes in shock, muscles going tense.

“I’ll ring again tonight at 12. Please be there.”

There’s a click, and a dialling tone.

Hands shaking, she rests the receiver back in its cradle, quickly wiping her face with the back of her sleeve before turning.

She could lie to herself, pretend that she’ll be in bed at midnight, asleep and uncaring of mysterious phone calls, but that _Please_ echoes round and round in her head and she doesn’t bother.

 

* * *

 

 

Sister Monica Joan is woken in the night by the very strong desire to use the facilities. Eyes blinking open, she rises and shuffles her feet into her slippers, more than used to the effects of age on her old body.

The big house is drafty in the winter, but she doesn’t bother with her house coat. If the stars are right – which they always are, being His angels recast – then she shouldn’t be troubled with colds and the like until the moon reaches it’s waning crescent, which isn’t for another 2 weeks.

Her bones ache with a familiarity easily ignored, and she wonders at the state of the garden come spring. They really should get more tulips planted, lest the carrots get too bold.

It isn’t until she’s on her way back that she notices the other late night patroller. Nurse Lee stands in the hallway, one hand pressing the phone to her ear, the other idly wrapped around the cord, bunching it up, then releasing it.

Her hearing has been on the decline since she reached seniority, but her eyes are still sharp, and the fond smile on the young nurse’s face, combined with the reverent care she takes with the phone speaks volumes.

Young love, how lovely. Perhaps she will make Jenny a fruit basket to take to this mysterious paramour.

 Curiosity sated for now, the sister continues her original path, settling into bed with delight as she finds it still warm. Her mind flickers through faces as she sinks into sleep, showing her the young blonde man she came upon in the front hallway, that time. She remembers how attentive Jenny had been, completely focused. They would make a good match, she thinks faintly, as sleep claims her.

**Author's Note:**

> If you made it this far, well done! Feel like leaving kudos? Don't be shy!! 
> 
> (Seriously, those notifications make my day)


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